Fast Times  Rod Serling Magnet HS For Misc XOvers
by MommaCav
Summary: Characters from all over the fiction universe come to this high school to teach, support, learn, and; well, read it and find out :- .  I am a first time fan fic writer ... be gentle, but I would love a read and review.


Hi Fan Fics Folks! I don't own any of the characters here ... my daughter (fan fic author) Bridgette Janine and I had a conversation that became this story ... she gave it up to me for editing adoption. Hope you like this. Thanks to my beta Mysterious Victoria for her time and effort!

Driving up the gently curving road that led to the new school, the Principal felt satisfied. This was a dream he had had for quite some time. To create a high school for all those lost characters to attend; for them to be together and share the experience of being a character that was popular for a time and then vanish into the unrelenting pages of history, unknown and uncared for. After battles with networks, publishers, countless lawyers and studio executives, he won the Rights to all of them. Now is the time and this is the place! A satisfied smile crept onto his face; a face he had not worn in years and would be unrecognizable to his other Self. Here, he would be forever young, forever able to shape and create the lives of those who wanted it, of those who needed it. Those lost characters.

Today is the day before classes would officially start at the Rod Serling Magnet School for Miscellaneous Crossovers. He would be hosting the faculty and staff with a breakfast buffet so they could all get to know each other and see what kind of personal magic each would bring to the School. As the car came to a stop in front of the sign labeled "Principal: Mr. Roarke", he smiled again. He looked down the row of similar signs reserved for the other faculty and staff. Some would be difficult to deal with, but he had a special way of putting people at ease. Oh yes, this would be a grand thing; a very grand thing indeed. Some spaces were already taken with a wide ranging variety of vehicles. The Dean of Discipline, Mr. Worf had set up a transporter in the spot where his car should be. The security guard, Ray, had apparently chosen to use the broken down ambulance that served the Ghostbusters so well. He was a forgetful man, more interested in the paranormal than in high school security, and had left all the lights flashing. The pink Mercedes with pink wheels and fluffy pink interior could only belong to the math teacher, Hannah Montana. Mr. Roarke frowned at that choice. There had been others, but they had all backed out. He sighed, unsure of this faculty member. Well, it would work itself out. He glanced over at the lake and watched serenely as the vessel docked. She was a pirate, built for speed. The sign at the dock read "PE Teacher: Captain Jack Sparrow". Jack would be an enigma here at RSHS. His other Self had a full career, and there were more of his characters here than any other. The groundskeeper's work clearly evident in every bush; it was a splendid, if occasionally bizarre topiary. Edward Scissorhands, because of his lack of social skills, had requested a residence on campus. There was also the Master and Mistress of Lunch, Break and After School Snacks; Willie Wonka, the 2005 incarnation who would be working alongside Mrs. Lovette. Mr. Roarke shook his head as he imagined some compromise of gummy-priest pies. Well, it would work out.

He was snapped out of his musings as his Secretary, whose golf cart was careening into the space labeled for him, called to him in such a familiar manner that it actually brought a tear to Mr. Roarke's eye.

"Boss, Boss," Tattoo lisped, "they are not all here yet! What do we do?" Mr. Roarke smiled and wiped the lone tear away. Yes, this was good.

"Relax, my old friend, all will be in readiness. You worry too much."

"I had the girls set up breakfast, but Ray would not let me set the tiki torches in the school and that Scissorhands man would not let me put them on the grounds either. He said they distracted from the topiaries." The little man let out a sigh that seemed too big for him. "Well, at least the girls seem happy to be working again. They will come out and greet the students tomorrow, yes?" Before Roarke could answer, a 1940 sedan pulls up to park in the music teacher's spot. About the vehicle there hovers an ambiguous miasma, not exactly a fog, but more of a bubble that blocked out all color and leaves the view feeling as though he is watching a black and white film. The bubble extends around the auto to a certain degree, and Tattoo's eyes grow wide as he watches as the deep red rose bush the car parks in front dim to shades of grey, white and black. The driver's door opens, and a black man in a suit appears. He is round of face and body with an infectious smile. He nods to the odd pair on the sidewalk and goes to the rear of the car where an upright piano is tied tightly to the rumble seat.

"Mornin' boss!" he smiles at Mr. Roarke. Tattoo bristles. No one calls Mr. Roarke "boss" but him. "Would you have someone to help me git my piano out and into the school?"

"Certainly, Sam; and Welcome to Fan–er, that is The Rod Serling Magnate High School for Miscellaneous Crossovers. Your trip from Casablanca was … I hope … without incident."

"Hee hee; that, boss, is another story for another time. I hope you all don't mind, I sort of insisted on stickin' to the original. Can't rightly stand that colorized nonsense Turner inflicted on us in 1984. Don't know about you, boss, but I don't wear no gold lamee, no matter what that yacht driving fool and his crazy wife say. No sir, not this Sam!" As he was speaking, laughing girls descended the massive stairs to of the school. They all had long hair, adorned with tropical flowers; they wore bikini tops and flowing, tied-on skirts in assorted patterns that brought to mind sandy beaches and clear blue water. They surrounded Sam and deftly removed the piano while giggling. Strangely, when these girls, colorful as butterflies, were in that bubble of Sam's, the patterns on the skirts remained, but faded into the same shades of grey, black and white as the roses in front of his car. The girls giggled some more as they padded, barefooted back up the stairs, carrying the piano as if it were no heavier than an oversized stuffed animal.

Mr. Roarke extended his hand to Sam saying, "My friend, let us get out of the sun and into the rooms that will be our home as we instruct our young minds." Sam nodded and followed Mr. Roarke up the stairs at a jaunty jog. Only Tattoo remained on the stairs, arms crossed and glaring at the bubbled man and his Boss.

"Ahoy, mate! I am in the right place, I assume?"

"Who cares?" Tattoo spat as he spun on his spit shined black shoes and began to climb the massive stairs with obvious effort.

"Well, that's not very welcoming." Jack mused under his rum stained breath as he looked around. A taxi arrived on the scene, and a haggard looking man in his late forties got out. He had a cane and looked as disheveled as any pirate Jack had met. They would be mates!

"What Ho, my good man! And who might you be?"

"House."

"Sorry, sir. This is a school, not a residence, perhaps we can yet recall your yellow vehicle …"

Jack's new friend rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. It was going to be one of 'those' places.

"No, idiot, that's my name … House … Doctor House. I'm the school nurse in this … place." As if seeing him for the first time, House eyed Jack closely. "What the heck are you? It's a little early for Halloween dress up isn't it pal?"

"My manners are slipping. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain of the Black Pearl, defeater of Davey Jones–"

"Yeah, whatever. When I took this assignment, it was temporary; I figured there were bound to be some whackos here. I'm still in original series besides syndication." Jack was stunned at this reception, but felt the gauntlet must be picked up.

"And I, sir, have a fourth film currently in production as well as merchandising, and my own remade ride at all theme parks renovated for me and me alone!"

"Really, Bluebeard? Do your homework! Disney Paris has the old ride, Hong Kong has no pirate ride at all, and the Tokyo spot is hosted by Kirin Beer, not a drop of rum! Stick to fake swashbuckling … _matey_ … let the real characters have the light."

"Dr. House." Roarke called, not kindly, from the top of the stairs. His stern demeanor melted, and he spread his arms in welcome. "Welcome to …"

"Yeah, whatever." House cut him off, "where's the nurse's office? I can't believe I'm actually doing this." House caned his way up the stairs and past a stunned Mr. Roarke, leaving a visibly disturbed Captain Sparrow to follow in his shadow while mumbling to himself about Hong Kong, contracts and lawyers.

Inside the school, other teachers and staff were milling, wandering around while the native dressed girls offered frozen drinks and assorted snacks served on palm fronds. Mr. Roarke encouraged the girls with "Smiles, everyone, smiles." The teachers and staff were all politely ushered to a large airy room labeled "Faculty Lounge". It more resembled a connected gazebo than a school room; the walls were whitewashed and gleamed in the sun that streamed through etched windows, casting a riot of rainbows on the wicker furniture. Overhead, fans that appeared to be palm leaves blithely stirred the air that had a haunting scent of coconut, sun tan oil and sandalwood. Paper tents sat on the table with each teacher's name delicately etched in a careful hand. Mr. Roarke took his place, clearing his throat in anticipation of everyone taking their seats. At first, no one moved, and they continued to look about the room and at each other. Rolling his eyes, he cleared his throat, this time a little louder, and began to speak.

"Welcome, my friends. I am, Mr. Roarke, your ho–er, Principal. Welcome to the Rod Serling Magnate High School for Miscellaneous Crossovers. Please find your name card and have a seat. I am afraid our bus driver will not be able to join us at these staff meetings. When you meet him tomorrow morning, you will understand. Now, I think the best way for all of us to get to know each other is to simply go around the table and introduce ourselves. I will begin with my secretary to my left, Tattoo." Turning to his left, he found an empty chair. Bristled, but not enough to display, he covered. "Ah, yes, he had some pressing business on the grounds; no doubt you will meet him shortly, er, soon. Vincent, would you please introduce yourself."

A man with red hair and a beard stood up and looked at the empty chair of the school secretary. With a sigh of profound sadness, he looked around the table while adjusting the bloody bandage around his ear. "Hello," he said in a mournful voice, "I'm Vincent van Gogh. I teach art."

"Vinnie, after this brief, pop over to the nurse's office; I'm sure I could help you with that ear thing. Don't want to scare the kiddies on their first day." House said from across the table.

"We will go in turn, Dr. House, thank you. Next," Mr. Roarke motioned to the next man. He stood up was surrounded by that bubble of grey, black and white.

"I'm Sam, and I teach music." he said cheerily. He smiled at all the teachers and addressed the principal directly. "Mr. Roarke, are you sure your gals got my piano to the music room all safe? They look awful small to be furniture movers, and that is an antique." Mr. Roarke laughed genuinely and nodded while motioning to the next teacher's chair which appeared as empty as Tattoo's.

Mr. Roarke called out, "Mr. Beetlejuice? Mr. Beetlejuice? Beetlejuice, where are you?" With an audible "pop" what appeared to be a dead man in a pinstriped suit was suddenly in the chair. With a gravelly voice he said, "I'm here, man," putting his feet on the table, "you just need to call me." Mr. Roarke appeared angry, but with a deep breath and closed eyes, he asked thoughtfully, "And what do you teach, Mr. Beetlejuice?"

"Ah, watch the B-word, don't want me to disappear on you, do you Roarke? I will be teaching Paranormal Activity."

"Fine. Next?"

The two people next to Beetlejuice stood up. One was tall, with heavy features and a unibrow. His dark scraggly hair came to his shoulder. There was something Neanderthal about his demeanor. The other was much younger with light brown hair, and he had an iPod in his pocket. One ear bud in his ear while the other dangling down his shirt with an indiscernible song coming from it. The older man introduced himself, "I'm Andy," he said, "and this," he jerked his thumb at the younger man next to him, "is Greg Sanders, a teaching assistant from Las Vegas." Andy used his fingers to draw air quotes when using the words 'teaching assistant'. Greg waved to the group amicably. "We'll be teaching biology."

The next man who stood up wore his hair in a classing 1960's 'bowl cut' and was younger than almost everyone at the table. Except for his military bearing, he could have been confused with a student. He wore a mustard yellow shirt with military decorations and trim, black pants that flared slightly at the mid calf and leather boots. He spoke with a very thick Russian accent. "Chekov, Paval, reporting for duty, sir!" he said as he saluted to Roarke. "I vill be teaching history, sir."

The next man who stood up was the most outrageously dressed of them all. His long black hair was held back by a red bandana and capped by a worn tricorn hat. Over his canvas shirt, he wore a blue vest and a long overcoat with six pistols attached to harnesses. He grinned, revealing several old teeth, "'ello," he said, also in a faint British accent, but more of a seafaring droll, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, and I will be teaching the young' uns about physical education."

"That's nice, Jack," said Sam from down the table.

"_Captain_ Jack," the pirate corrected, and he sat back down.

The next teacher was also British, and had many thin scars across his relatively young face. "My name is Remus Lupin," he said politely, "I will be teaching English."

The first female teacher was a giddy blonde with too much makeup on. "Hi y'all," she said in a thick southern accent, "I'm Hannah Montana, and I teach math."

"You do know you're the third mathematics teacher considered, and the year hasn't even started yet?" commented Lupin. "Some people say the position is cursed."

"P-shaw, silly," she waved him off, "I don't believe in curses."

Mr. Roarke rose from his chair. "I think I should mention our support staff as well. My secretary is named Tattoo, although I can't imagine where he has gone. You have met Dr. Greg House, our school nurse," he motioned an open hand toward House who sneered at the principal with open hostility. Mr. Roarke closed his hand into a fist and brought it sharply to his temple as though he caught a fly in mid air, sighed and resumed his introductions of absent staff. "I believe our Dean of Student Discipline is learning his way around the grounds at present. His name is Lieutenant Worf of the Starship Enterprise. Ray, our security guard, is also learning the lay of the land. Our janitor, Cookie Monster, lives on Sesame Street; he has a long commute, so bear with his hours, please. Our lunch staff consists of a Mrs. Lovette and the 2005 Willie Wonka incarnation … oh, and they will also be teaching home economics as well. Who am I missing? Oh yes, our Guidance Counselor is Stephan from Sondheim's Broadway based on the _Gospel of Mark_. Well, I do believe that is everyone." He made a grand sweeping gesture to the buffet, "Please make yourselves at home, get to know each other, and begin to explore the school; classrooms and offices." He turned as if to go and then remembering something, turned back to them. "Oh yes, one other staff member is here to assist you. Should you desire to take your class on a field trip, write up your goals on the form in your packets, and Miss Frizzle will handle the arrangements."

So ... love it, hate it, review it ... be gentle, it's been years since I wrote fiction :-)


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